


Fabricated Descent

by Schizzar



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Smut, Triggers, Weird Philosophy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-30
Updated: 2012-07-30
Packaged: 2017-11-04 14:57:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 20,491
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/395118
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Schizzar/pseuds/Schizzar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arthur is stuck in a downward spiral, with no intention of getting out. In a job gone wrong, Eames realizes he may be the only thing standing between the Point Man and uncertain fate.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Fabrication

**Author's Note:**

> This is another one of my stories that I'm actually proud of. Mostly action, with some loving times in it later on. Reviews are loved.

There was nothing like an adrenaline rush to make Arthur feel better. The problem was, ever since Inception, he was unable to achieve that old high. Every fiber of his being craved it, urged him to keep running to try and find it.

He hadn't realized the problem for about a year. He continued on as he had before, taking jobs when it seemed like a good gig, flying back to his apartment in Colorado in between. After awhile, he began to notice that he wasn't enjoying it. The thrill of learning everything about a mark, discovering the perfect way to manipulate them into giving up the information he wanted, simply wasn't doing it.

Mostly, his ties with the others were gone. Cobb had a life to lead. Ariadne had school, though occasionally she would call Arthur on a job she had taken up for advice. Eames...he hadn't even bothered to try and stay in contact with him, and he only called Yusuf if he needed an especially good Chemist. While he hadn't reached out to Saito, sometimes the man would call him for a low-risk extraction job. He never called his old teammates, only working with new faces.

It was as if, on some level, he wanted to forget. Forget that incredible high so that he could go back to being normal, or as close to it as he had ever managed to get. But no. The memory was like a brand on his mind, plaguing his dreams as well as his waking thoughts, a constant needle prodding and poking, looking for the crack in his defenses that would break him. Push him past the cliff and into a downward spiral of reckless jobs and thoughtless decisions.

It was the Ripper job that broke him. They were to extract information from a psychotic killer to figure out where he buried the bodies of his victims. Normally, an untrained conscience was easy to manipulate, easy to extract information from, but he and his team had severely underestimated the man, even with all the information Arthur had bothered to gather. He shouldn't have taken the case in the first place, given how he had never gone into a psychotic man's mind before.

The hyperactivity of the man's brain resulted in all of his teammates being killed, random memories missing when they awoke, and Arthur had only escaped unharmed because he had shot himself instead of allowing one of the deranged projections to kill him.

When he woke, the man was already stumbling to his feet and had his hands around one of his teammate's necks. Before Arthur could so much as twitch, the man had snapped his teammate's neck. Eventually, he got his body moving again and he tackled the man to the ground. The sound of a vase shattering on the ground echoed in his ears, and the next moment his shoulder bloomed with pain. The man had twisted to snatch a piece of sharp ceramic and stabbed it into his shoulder again and again. Tearing away, Arthur stumbled to his feet, drew his gun, and in one shot, the man was dead. Adrenaline leant him the strength to run from the room and into his car before the remaining teammates could react.

He ditched the car some miles away and forced himself into a small dank bar, escaping to the bathroom to deal with his wounds. It was there, staunching the flow of blood with toilet paper, that he began to laugh. He had stared death, true death that he would never wake from, in the eye and laughed. It had been so long since he had honestly feared for his life.

After that, he was stuck on the spiral, and didn't want to get off. Risky jobs with riskier teammates. Hoping that he would end up in a real fight but never triggering it. It was a self-destruction disguised as a job.

Which led to where he was now. The back of a taxi in New York, pouring over a few more notes he had taken of the mark. It was simple enough, but the teammates he was working with were the real danger. Sara and May, sisters, and known for being ruthless when it came to extracting information, often attacking their own team if they caught even a whiff of betrayal. He had heard from other contacts that they would withhold information or lie for their own benefit, or even worse, kill their teammates to get more money from their employer. It was perfect.

At least until he walked into the room and saw Eames bruised and bloody, sprawled on the floor.

Sara stood above him in a crisp women's suit, gun aimed at his shoulder. A quick scan showed that May was nowhere visible in the room. The door slammed shut and Arthur whirled, knocking May's gun aside and throwing her to the ground. His hand twisted in May's curly brown locks and he wrenched her head up, locking eyes with Sara.

Sara's eyes narrowed and she turned to face Arthur, bracing her legs on either side of Eames's torso as she trained the gun on him. "Let her go."

"Drop the gun and I  _won't_ snap her neck," Arthur said lowly.

"Sara can shoot faster than you could do anything," May snarled, twisting beneath him.

"May, don't criticize the poor boy," Sara said as she crooked an ice blonde eyebrow up. "He's obviously not the brightest if he joined us, no questions asked. Now, release my sister."

Arthur weighed his options, then released his hold and got to his feet. May stood and took her time straightening her red blouse, trying and failing to wear on Arthur's patience. With a huff, she began to search him, but his gaze never left Sara's. It was unlikely she would drop her guard, but he could hope. She tossed her blonde ponytail over her shoulder and it swung down low down by her waist. The way she was standing made her skirt rise, further exposing the well-muscled legs of someone trained in fighting. She certainly wouldn't go down as quickly as her soft, pouty sister.

"Good. Now maybe we can talk business," Sara said. "You can either go down into the dream willingly or we drag you under."

"But who is he?" Arthur asked. "That's not my mark."

Sara was a beautiful woman, but the snarl on her lips twisted that perfection. "Don't play coy with me, Arthur. I know exactly who this man is, and I know you know him even better than me."

Arthur's only response was a raised eyebrow.

"He has information we want, but he's trained. We figured taking an old friend down with us would...help make him a little more willing," May said.

"You kill me down there, I just wake up. He knows that," Arthur said. Admitting he knew Eames wouldn't do any harm, not at this point.

Sara laughed, the cruel sound making Arthur cringe inwardly. "But if we torture you? Oh, you'll live, and he'll break. Hopefully before you do but," she shrugged. "We'll only be killing you when you wake up."

"And Eames?"

"Drag him off to our employer to deal with," May said.

"So what'll it be? Will you cooperate or disobey and make your last moments all the more painful?" Sara asked. Her expression said she'd be happy with either choice.

Arthur took a deep breath. Chasing the adrenaline high was something only he did, something that only affect him. And now his choices were endangering others. The guilt weighed heavy on his chest.

Sara yelped as Eames's hand snatched her ponytail and yanked her back. Instinctively, Arthur dove to lunge over the bed, grabbing May and slamming her head into the wall. When he turned, Eames had pinned Sara to the ground, her long ponytail wrapped tight around her neck and her wrists held together in one of his large hands.

"While I was loving the view you were giving me, I decided it was more beneficial if I took you down before Arthur had to choose," Eames said.

"May! You said you drugged him!" Sara struggled beneath Eames's iron grip as May tried to get to her feet.

"I did, I swear!"

Arthur watched as the younger sister reached for the gun, heart in his throat. His body sung at how dangerous she would be once she wrapped her slim hands around the handle. He had to see it. Had to trigger that unbelievable high.

But she didn't aim at him, instead at Eames. The gunshot rang out even as Arthur knocked her down, wresting the gun from her hand and cracking it against her head to knock her out. He fired, a perfect shot through Sara's head. She crumpled and it was then he realized Eames had been shot. It explained how she had escaped in the first place.

Eames leaned against the wall, head back and face contorted as he pressed his hand against the wound. Hot blood spilled down over his fingers and Arthur resisted the urge to run away. His addiction had just gotten one of his coworkers, one of the ones who knew him better than he liked to think about, injured.

"Eames…"

"What…the bloody hell darling?" Eames panted, pressing his free hand to the wall and pushing himself up. "What mad demon possessed you to work with these…banshees?"

"I…Eames we need to get out of here. I just killed a woman, in real life and I mean, their employer is no doubt some very powerful person who's going to be extremely  _pissed_  that I just took out some of the best agents," Arthur said, struggling to get himself together.

"Arthur, love, you're hyperventilating I think," Eames said as he stumbled towards him.

Arthur realized then that Eames had not just been shot once, but twice, once in his side as well. "Eames…"

"Arthur, let's just go. I need to get patched up, and then we're going to talk."

_That's what I don't want to do._

_  
_

_-.-_

 

Arthur ran his hand down his face for at least the seventeenth time. His suit pants were wrinkled, his jacket long discarded, and his dress shirt was halfway unbuttoned because he felt like he couldn't get enough air. He was panicking, he knew that, was painfully aware of that, but he couldn't stop. And Eames just sat across from him, finishing up bandaging his shoulder, calm as could be.

The myriad of tattoos across the man's torso were interlaced with scars, but the odd beauty was disturbed by the two swathes of cloth. He kept replaying the scene in his head. It was his fault Eames had gotten injured, and while he didn't exactly like the man, the guilt continued to nag at him.

"Well," Eames said, grabbing his shirt and pushing his arms through carefully. "Ready to talk darling?"

"There's nothing to talk about, Eames," Arthur said, keeping his face calm from where he sat on the bed of the hotel room they had checked into. "Nothing at all."

"Oh really?" Eames cocked his head to the side. "So tell me why you let that crazy bitch shoot me when you could've easily knocked her to the ground?"

"I wasn't fast enough. I'm sorry," Arthur said.

"And you were working with them in the first place why?" Eames pushed.

"I didn't know you were their mark. They tricked me," Arthur said.

"Oh, I was awake for that bit, darling. Still doesn't answer my question," Eames said. "It's just you working with a pair of bloody bimbos like that is a little...out of character."

 _Oh everything I've been doing these past three months is out of character. If only you knew,_  Arthur thought. "Good money."

"You aren't stupid enough to run with them for money, Arthur. Don't lie to me," Eames said, leaning back in his chair. "And you look like hell."

Arthur crooked an eyebrow. "Thanks Eames."

Eames rolled his eyes. "Seriously Arthur. Look at yourself. You've got bags under your eyes, you look half crazy, and your clothes are wrinkled. Even during Inception-"

"Don't. Don't talk about that," Arthur bit out.

Eames paused then folded his arms across his chest, wincing for a moment. "I see. Something happened on that job, didn't it?"

" _Nothing_  happened, Eames. Stop putting words in my mouth. I just don't like talking about Inception."

"You are just as stubborn as ever, love," Eames said. "Can you at least tell me what you know about what information they wanted out of me? I need to be able to protect myself."

The change in topic was unexpected, but greatly desired so Arthur didn't question it. "Their employer's name was definitely an alias because I couldn't get any information on him-"

"Wait, wait, wait," Eames said, waving his hands. "You couldn't find information on someone? Really? And you still went in? Are you out of your bloody mind?"

"Do you want me to answer those questions in order or do you have a preference?" Arthur deadpanned.

"Darling..."

"Yes, I couldn't find information, and I went in. As far as whether or not I'm crazy...it's very possible," Arthur said, voice dropping off towards the end.

"...Arthur? What's happened to you?"

"Nothing!" Arthur jolted to his feet, hands tearing at his hair. "Everything! God I don't know."

With a grunt, Eames pushed himself out of the chair to get closer to Arthur despite his pacing. "Whoa now, love. Just sit back and calm down."

"I can't calm down! I almost got you killed! Because I can't stop..." Arthur froze, hands balling into fists along his sides.

A hand lightly gripped his shoulder and he pressed a hand to his forehead. "What can't you stop darling?"

"Look, can you just...can we get some rest and talk later?" Arthur asked.

Eames sighed, his breath puffing against Arthur's neck. "Yeah, okay."

Eames grabbed his wrist and tugged him towards the bed they would have to share. Arthur obeyed without question, not willing to put up any more fighting. He was unaware of when he fell asleep.

 

-.-

 

When he woke, Eames was just stepping out of the bathroom, hair still wet from his shower. Arthur slid past the man to take his own shower, trying, and mostly failing, to wake up. All he could think about was how he could get out of talking to Eames about his...problem. In the end, he couldn't think of a single way to avoid the conversation. Ditching the man wasn't an option, not after how he had almost gotten him killed from being stupid.

His actions yesterday were the true proof that he did indeed have a problem, a problem he would have to deal with quickly, or else let it spin completely and utterly out of control. Not that Eames was exactly the person he wanted to talk to, but it wasn't like he had much of a choice. Eames was the only one around, and he would never go to Cobb or Ariadne.

That didn't mean he had to like it though. When he emerged from his shower, he tried to avoid Eames's gaze. He only had yesterday's clothes to dress into, and he did his best to smooth out the wrinkles.

"No extra set of clothes?" Eames asked. "Even for quick jobs, you always brought a spare. How odd."

Arthur gave him a withering look. "I know what you're trying to do and I get it. I'm not...as careful as I used to be, not as proper, not as perfect."

Eames stood and moved towards him. "Let's go somewhere safer. I'll drive, and we can talk more on the way, alright love?"

"You're not driving. You're injured," Arthur said, shouldering the bag that contained the PASIV.

"And you're crazy. Neither of us is quite capable of driving right now, I'm just slightly more capable," Eames said, tapping his nose with a wink.

Arthur knocked his hand away. "I'm not crazy."

"You're just in denial. Come along darling. Time to hotwire a car."

 

-.-

 

The low hum of the car was comforting, something constant he could depend on as he leaned against the window. Sporadically, Eames would start humming and tap his fingers against the steering wheel, but eventually it would drift off again.

"Where are we going?" Arthur asked.

Eames shrugged. "A hotel  _not_  in New York. I'd guess May won't start looking for awhile, but getting in a plane in a New York airport is like shooting up a flare."

"Oh."

Eames glanced over at him. "You should know that."

"What do you want me to say Eames?" Arthur demanded, straightening in his chair.

"Just the truth."

Arthur sighed. "I'm not in a good place right now."

"I got that love. Want to stop for a hamburger?" Eames didn't wait for his reply, instead pulling off the highway. "And why aren't you in a good place?"

"I...I keep seeking out danger," Arthur said, keeping his gaze rooted on the road ahead of them. "I'm losing myself."

"For a Point Man, you're rather vague," Eames said as he pulled into a generic hamburger joint. "Do you want something?"

"No."

Eames shrugged and got out of the car, locking it manually. They were running out of gas, so they would probably stop to hotwire another car before much longer. It wasn't a method of travel Arthur would normally approve of, but his mind was at the point that he simply didn't care.

"Come on, love," Eames said, tapping the window. "There's a bus stop a block away from here."

Arthur obeyed without protest. "At least that mode of travel is legal."

Eames shrugged as he bit into his hamburger, the smell of grease permeating the air. Arthur hated the smell. "So, going to elaborate more?"

"No."

"Eventually you'll have to. I'm not letting you walk away from me when you'll probably just get yourself killed right after," Eames said. "Sorry, we're stuck together now."

"Somehow, I knew you would say that," Arthur said. "I almost got you killed."

"I'm injured, sure, but alive. Don't worry about it," Eames said. "So where do you live now?"

Arthur palmed his totem, then turned and crouched, rolling the die out of Eames sight. A three. He was in reality. The question was too abrupt, and for all he knew, Eames could've been someone else trying to get information out of him. It never hurt to be careful.

"Love...you're acting a lot like Cobb," Eames said.

Arthur snatched the die off the ground. "I am  _nothing_  like Cobb!"

Eames tossed his wrapper into the nearby trashcan, wiping his hands on his jeans. "This level of paranoia is not like you."

"You don't know anything."

Leaning against the bus sign, Eames barked out a laugh. "I've been on more jobs with you than Cobb has. I'm a Forger. It's my job to know people. Besides, your habits are easy to pick up on, and you've always been grounded in reality."

Arthur set his gaze to the front, not wanting to look at Eames, or admit that the man was right. His grip on reality, for the first time ever, was becoming shaken. Sometimes he just wanted to lose himself in the dream, and other times he panicked and needed to roll his totem over and over again.

"I live in Colorado."

"Long road trip then," Eames said without missing a beat.

"What?" Arthur's eyes narrowed as he looked at him.

Eames shrugged. "I need a place to stay while I figure out who's trying to extract information from me, and you need my help, whether or not you like it."

"I'm not letting you know my address," Arthur said flatly.

"Arthur, do you honestly think I'd ever betray you?" Eames asked.

"I can't..." Arthur shook his head. "You're too much of a reminder."

"A reminder of what?"

Arthur was saved from answering when the bus pulled up. He made a point of sitting as far away from Eames as possible. When he snuck a glance back, the Forger was staring at him with a single eyebrow crooked up. He turned his attention out the window and fished around in his pocket for money. Within two hours they were pulling up to a bus stop out of New York's boundaries, in a small town just over the boarder. Arthur didn't hesitate to hop off, paying the driver as he left.

Unfortunately, Eames was right on his tail. "Trying to leave without me, love?"

"You aren't going to my house. I'm getting on a plane and leaving," Arthur said.

He spun on his heel and began to head down the street, hopefully to a gas station so he could call a taxi service and get to the nearest airport. But Eames snatched up his wrist and held him back, holding Artur by his shoulder with his good hand.

"Stop being so god damn stupid. I  _will_  physically restrain you and call Cob to deal with your drama queen shit, but I really don't think you want that," Eames growled, gray eyes darkening.

"I don't want help."

"You admitted you have a problem. If you don't want help, what  _do_  you want?"

Arthur's silence spoke volumes and the blood drained from the Forger's face.

"Please. Let's sit down somewhere and talk." There was a begging note in his voice that grated against Arthur's ears.

"Okay."

Arthur hated greasy food. It made his stomach roll, and certainly did not help the knots tangling together in his gut. And yet here he was, watching Eames indulge in his second hamburger of the day. At the man's urging, he had ordered a small plate of fries.

"So you've got a death wish," Eames said.

"I guess." Arthur used one fry to knock another off the plate to its fiery death in the lava that was the table.

"What a waste," Eames said, picking up the fallen fry and popping it in his mouth. His eyes never left Arthur's face.

"It's just a fry," the Point Man said.

"And yet as small and insignificant as it is, it helps sustain my life," the man replied.

"It's soaked in grease and will eventually cause a heart attack. And then you'll be dead."

Eames threw his head back and laughed, the noise harsh in the near empty restaurant. "You speak so calmly of death. I don't know why that's funny, but it is."

"Glad I could be useful." His tone was dry as he glowered at the Forger.

"Small use, but important in its own way," Eames said, picking up another fry and twirling it in front of Arthur's face before popping it in his mouth.

Arthur pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. "Thank you for the fry therapy."

Eames beamed at him. "Catchy name, love. Maybe I should go into it as a new career."

"I doubt it would pay very well. I don't feel much better," Arthur said.

"Give it time."

"I have to, with you around," Arthur pushed his plate of fries away. "So. We're going to Colorado?"

Eames grinned. "Are you going to let me stay at your place? Let me help you?"

"You'd follow me," Arthur said. "I might as well let you come willingly."

Eames looked down, smile fading. "Look, Arthur. I don't like the circumstances that brought us together, but I'm glad they did. I need to fix you. You can't keep going on like this."

Arthur leaned forward, resting his forehead on his hand as he stared at the table. "I know. I know."


	2. Descent

"Should I chain you to the bed so you don't kill yourself while I'm sleeping?"

Arthur shot the Forger a dirty look as he slid the PASIV under the bed. "I'm going in to town to get more clothes. Stay here so the PASIV doesn't get stolen."

"Paranoia's kicking in I see-"

"Eames!" Arthur slammed the side of his fist against the wall. "Please."

Eames stared at him, taking in the un-gelled hair, disheveled clothes, the crazy look in his eyes. "Okay. You need some alone time, I get it."

"Don't diagnose everything I do as a fucking problem!"

Silence.

"I won't leave."

Arthur sighed and brushed past Eames, slamming the door behind him. Eames eased himself down onto the bed, running a hand down his face as he thought. In a way he was worried that Arthur would go out and pick a fight, but Arthur, even now, wasn't the type. From what he had heard, albeit accidentally, in the car, Arthur wouldn't  _purposely_  lose control. But if someone picked a fight with  _him_...instead of walking away, Eames didn't doubt that Arthur would fight back and drag it out as long as possible.

Upon having this thought, he had to resist the urge to run after him. Instead he sat back up and went into the bathroom to redress his wounds. Most hotels carried first aid kits after all.

He couldn't get Arthur's face out of his head. That look in his eyes when Sara lay bleeding on the floor was a tainted euphoria, guilt and unbridled fear lurking beneath the initial exhilaration. He had never seen that look in Arthur's eye, and it scared him. In the past 24 hours he had seen more emotion from Arthur than he had in the last 5 years. Unfortunately, none of the emotions displayed were ones he particularly wanted to see, though he supposed beggars couldn't be choosers.

But that didn't even take into account the physical state of his body. The clothes that had one hugged his well-defined form were loose, his cheeks pale and thin. All over, he had a sickly appearance. It was almost as if he were wasting away, eating only enough to stay standing.

Eames ordered room service for dinner, watching the hours tick away as he ate. Eventually, he grew too tired to stay awake and he drifted off. At some point the door clicked open and Arthur limped in. He cast a bag in the corner and vanished into the bathroom. There was the sound of the sink running and bandages being ripped off, and then the door opened once more.

The bed creaked beneath Arthur's weight, and a moment later the low hum of the PASIV began. Eames kept his body relaxed, listening carefully to Arthur's relaxing sigh before sitting up and looking at the timer. Four hours of restless sleep, and he didn't doubt for a second the Point Man was spending it fighting.

"Love, you are absolutely bloody mad," he said, quiet though there was no chance Arthur would wake.

He glanced at the other IVs, then grabbed one and plunged it in.

 

-.-

 

The dreamscape was dark, overcast. It was a city, neat and orderly, the steel skyscrapers like monsters clawing at the clouds. The streets were full of projections, but their attention was not on him, but rather each other. Eames had never seen anything quite like it, projections murdering each other in the streets in any way they could. Disturbed, he made his way into the nearest buildings.

Eames twisted out of the way as a group of policeman rushed out the door, and when he turned he could see Arthur talking with a police chief. He was dressed in an immaculate suit, and looked well put together; odd given the state of his subconscious. As he neared, the chief walked away.

"Arthur."

His voice echoed off the high ceilings of the lobby, and he could see the man tense at his voice.

"Leave, Eames."

Eames walked towards him, slow enough to give him a chance to run if he wanted. "What are you doing love?" His hand gripped the man's elbow, trying to turn him, though he remained rigid and still.

"Trying to...help myself. I've been trying to for awhile."

Eames shifted closer. "I thought you didn't want help."

"Not from you. This, Eames, is my subconscious. You can do whatever you want and my projections won't attack you. They're too busy self-destructing."

"Arthur is this what you meant when you said you were breaking?" Eames asked.

"Yes. Ever since the Ripper job."

"What was that?"

"I can't." The words came out as a hoarse whisper. "I'm sorry."

Arthur turned and Eames had a moment to recognize the gunshot before he woke up. He unhooked the IV and slipped under his own covers. How Arthur was spending four hours down in the dreamscape that depressing was beyond him, and from his point of view, Arthur was only making things worse by not giving himself rest.

How he'd convince Arthur of that was another matter entirely.

 

-.-

 

Arthur forgot he had been injured so when he woke up that morning, he ended up collapsing on the floor. Eames shifted and looked down at him, rubbing his eyes sleepily.

"Get in a fight?" Eames asked.

"On accident," Arthur said, grabbing the edge and pushing himself to his feet.

"Nothing ever happens on accident with you, love," Eames said. He was able to maneuver himself to cut Arthur off and, using his good arm, help Arthur to the bathroom. "How bad is it?"

"Got my leg sliced open above my knee."

Arthur gestured to the trash bin where his bloodied trousers were. "We'll take it with us when we leave."

"How...you know what? I don't even care," Eames said, releasing him.

Arthur leaned on the counter heavily, grabbing the first aid kit and popping it open. "If you want to get fresh clothes, my wallet's on the dresser. I won't leave until you come back."

He looked into the mirror to meet Eames's gaze. The gray eyes were untrusting, and he noted that the man's beard was more scraggly then usual. And apparently he didn't believe in shirts when he slept. Before he could stop himself, his eyes dragged over the muscles, tight underneath the deep colors of his tattoos. A low chuckle and a hand on his lower back jerked him out of his thoughts, and he flushed as his eyes met Eames's in the mirror.

"You are much easier to read when you're tired, darling," Eames said.

The hand, so much like a brand on his back, left and the bathroom door shut. Arthur quickly swallowed the pain pills, listening for the Forger to leave. Once the door closed he let out a sigh. So, he didn't like Eames that much. That didn't mean he couldn't appreciate the man's attractive body. What he didn't expect was how receptive the Forger was to his unintentional attention.

 

-.-

 

"Do you even sleep anymore?" Eames asked.

They were in a rented car. When Eames had returned from the store with an armful of bags, they had decided driving was a better move than flying. With the power May had behind her, she could be searching for any Arthur that purchased a ticket and see where he was going.

A rented car was much easier.

"When I can. Most of the time I have to reorganize my subconscious in my sleep, and I don't know what will happen if I just...stop," Arthur said, picking at a frayed thread of the seat.

"The problem isn't caused by something in your mind. You aren't crazy, love. Paranoid, maybe." Eames shrugged. "Self-hating? Definitely. You have your problems, but you aren't crazy."

"If it's not me, what is it?"

"You tell me."

For awhile, the only sound was the hum on the engine. Arthur toyed with the idea of telling Eames everything. The loneliness after Inception. The temporary joy he felt every time he skated past death. The joy turning into an intense desire to finally accept death's loving embrace. The fear stemming from that desire.

"I take back my previous statement. You're totally crazy."

Arthur jolted out of his thoughts, realizing with a flush that he had been making a few rather undignified whimpers. "I was thinking some...distressing thoughts."

"And you're tearing up the interior of the car," Eames added, knocking his hand off the armrest. "Do you need me to pull over?"

Arthur bit back his denial and nodded. "Pull over at a gas station or something."

Eames slid off the highway smoothly, locating a small mini-mart and pulling into a parking lot. "I get this distinct feeling you're about to have a panic attack."

"Possibly."

He unbuckled himself and got out, checking to make sure he had his wallet and then walking inside, his gait choppy from his bad leg. His heart was thudding in his ears, but he wasn't too worried about dissolving into a puddle of hysterics. By walking into a store, he was giving himself something to do instead of doing nothing but think about his issues and getting worked up. His feet led him to the snack area and he grabbed a box of fruit snacks, dinosaurs in a rainbow of colors.

When he got back to the car, Eames gave him a look. Arthur opened the first pack and poured three gummies into his hand, pretending not to notice the Forger's look.

"Love?"

"Mm?" The rip of another packet opening seemed to echo in the car. The empty one fell to the floor.

"Did we just stop to get you...Dinosaur Snackies? What a god-awful name for fruit snacks."

Arthur shot him a glare. "They're delicious."

Eames stared at him a moment longer, then started the car.

Arthur pulled out his laptop after finishing his snacks, needing something to do before he started thinking again. He doubted he'd be making much progress, but at least he could feel productive. Every once in awhile, Eames would shoot him a look and give a sigh, each one louder than the last.

"Yes Eames?" Arthur asked after a particularly loud sigh.

"Hm, nothing darling."

Arthur's eyes narrowed but he turned his attention back to the laptop regardless. A moment later, the loudest sigh Eames had yet to produce hit Arthur's ears, and Arthur slammed his laptop shut.

"What. Do you want. Eames?"

"Oh, thanks for asking. You see, love, I came up with a great idea," Eames said.

Arthur stared at him, waiting for him to elaborate.

"You see, we've been doing about this all wrong," Eames said. "You obviously can't find any real concrete information on the guy, so we need a new tactic."

"And what would that be?"

"Cat and mouse. You and I, darling, will be the mice. May and her employer will be the cats," Eames said, his voice and expression smug.

"Ah, yes, being digested alongside a hairball is just what I wanted," Arthur said, deadpan.

"You fail to see the brilliance in my plan. If a mouse knows he's being hunted, he can easily lay a trap," Eames said. "So we do something to get their attention, and when they come running to rip me apart, we take them out."

"Even if we do get their attention, what makes you think they'll be able to find us? Or that they won't see that it's a trap?" Arthur asked.

"Okay then love, what's your great idea?"

Arthur looked out the window. "I...I'm working on it."

"Look, let's just try my plan. If it fails, it fails," Eames said.

"But how do you intend to take them down? I doubt May's employer is going to come charging in with her, but she won't be going in alone either. The two of us would get killed," Arthur said.

"Arthur, you have a death wish. Why are you so against this plan?" Eames asked.

"Just because I want to die doesn't mean I want you to," Arthur said.

"Neither of us is going to die. May's ruthless, but stupid. Her employer, not so much, but we can do this," Eames said.

"I'm sorry."

"How is any of this your fault?"

"Well, I guess it isn't. But I'm not the most reliable teammate. I know that, and so do you," Arthur said. "So...I'm sorry."

"You are a bloody idiot. I wouldn't want anyone else with me."

 

-.-

 

Arthur threw his bag of clothes on the floor and then pulled out the PASIV, setting it down on the bedside table between their two beds. He was quick in the bathroom, changing into more comfortable clothes and emerging to find the PASIV gone and Eames sitting on his bed, arms folded across his chest.

"You are not going back down there. You're destroying yourself that way," Eames said.

"For all we know, it's the only thing holding me together. Don't fight me on this," Arthur said. "Where did you put it?"

"You can have it in the morning. Go to sleep."

Eames stood up and walked to the bathroom. As soon as he was out of sight, the Point Man began searching the room for his case, but wherever the Forger had put it, it was well hidden. Eventually he caved and crawled into bed. At some point, Eames did the same, turning out the light and bathing the room in darkness. For awhile, nothing stirred, and then Arthur turned on his back.

He stared up at the ceiling, begging for sleep to take him in its calming embrace. Worry and who knew what else kept it away though. His body shifted from too cold to too hot, and his muscles began to cramp if he stayed in one place too long. No matter how much he longed for it, the sleep danced away, and he had no clue where the man could have put the PASIV.

He turned back to lying on his side. They were on the first floor of their hotel, their car parked right outside their room. Easy access in case they suddenly had to bolt. Arthur sat up, pushing the covers off. The car was the perfect place to hide the PASIV, as long as it wasn't in plain sight. As the Point Man got to his feet, Eames stirred, hand blindly reaching out to turn the light back on.

"Go to bed. The keys are in my bag, which is locked, and the keys to that lock are hidden somewhere else entirely," Eames mumbled into his pillow. "Took you long enough to figure that out."

"Eames, I need it."

Eames pushed himself up, and not for the last time, Arthur cursed the man's inability to wear a shirt. Despite his sleepy posture, Eames' eyes were sharp as he met Arthur's gaze. "You have an addiction darling, and this addiction has to be cut cold turkey."

Arthur sat back down, trying to keep his breathing rate calm. What would happen if he wasn't able to access his dreams, his subconscious, and rein it back? Would he wake up, unable to function? Or unable to resist the urge to finally pull the plug on the meaningless effort he called life?

"E-Eames."

"You're going to be fine, love," Eames said, swinging his legs out from under the covers and leaning against his knees. "You don't need to organize your mind even in sleep. That's too much stress, even for you."

"But I..."

"What do you need me to do?"

Arthur met the man's eyes slowly. "Just be here when I wake up."

Eames nodded and moved back under the covers. "You aren't alone, Arthur. I'm not leaving you."

The light clicked off and Arthur laid back down, muscles tense to the point of shaking.  _You don't get it. I'm always alone._

 

_-.-_

 

When Arthur woke, Eames was changing into a disgusting floral print shirt, humming to himself. Pale sunlight, muffled by the clouds, streamed into the room, and Arthur slowly pushed himself up. The mirror was right across from his bed, and he was surprised at what he saw.

His eyes were brighter than normal, and the lines in his face didn't seem quite so deep. And for once, he didn't feel like putting a gun to his head and leaving reality for good. Perhaps sleep, however short, without the PASIV  _could_  be healthy.

"You already look better, darling," Eames said.

"To be honest, I'm waiting for the mental breakdown to happen," Arthur said.

"Well don't count on it," Eames said. "Sleep, real sleep, does wonders for the mind. Count on you, darling, to forget that."

Arthur crooked an eyebrow as he pushed himself out of up bed and onto his feet. "And what, exactly, does that mean?"

"It means," Eames said, stepping closer. The invasion of his personal space made him uncomfortable, but he forced himself to meet Eames' gaze, refusing to back down. "That you are so concerned about being neat, and orderly, and in control, that you forgot everyone needs to relax sometimes."

"And how do I relax?"

"Oh, I could think of a number of ways to wear your body out so that the only thing you could do was sleep, but you might not be so agreeable to such ideas, darling," Eames said, his gaze moving from serious to smoldering in barely a heartbeat.

"That's rather inappropriate of you, Mr. Eames," Arthur said.

"Hm, says the one who couldn't keep his bloody eyes off my chest," Eames said. The challenge lay thick in his voice.

A challenge Arthur wanted nothing more than to meet. "I have a thing for tattoos, want me to apologize?"

"Oh, this is a surprise. But let's stop now before you say something you regret." Eames tapped his cheek, giving him a smug grin before turning his back and moving away. "Would you like to pick up more Dinosaur Snackies on our way out?"

"Yeah, sure," Arthur said, picking up the bag of clothes on the floor and heading towards the bathroom. "I might even let you have a packet."

"You don't like me that much, love. Don't lead me on like that," Eames said.

"You're right. Only special people get the Dinosaur Snackies," Arthur said, unable to stop a small smile from creeping onto his face.

"I look forward to when I have the privilege."

Arthur paused before shutting the door. "If, you get the privilege."

"When."

"If."

"When."

"If."

"When."

Arthur slammed the door shut.

 

-.-

 

That night, dinner took place in a small diner with little to no heat. While the outside world was a mass of spinning snow and sixteen degree weather, inside was a solid thirty four degrees, and dropping.

"The hotel better be warmer than this," Eames said, plunging his fork into the last salad leaf on his plate. Usually, the Forger was one for greasy food, but after seeing the so called hamburger on another man's plate, he decided the salad was his safest bet.

"Knowing our luck, it won't be," Arthur said.

The Point Man popped another gummy dinosaur into his mouth as Eames finished off his salad and pushed the plate away. A moment later, their waitress appeared to clear the Forger's plate away.

"Would you like the Valentine's special?" she asked, not really looking at them as she texted someone on her phone.

"Uh," Eames began. He didn't exactly trust the food here, but he could definitely go for a fudge brownie after such a bland meal. "Yeah, sure."

"Okay, that's a brownie with some ice cream and a cherry or whatever," she said as she began to walk away.

"I didn't realize it was Valentine's Day," Arthur said with a frown.

"Lose track of time lately?" Eames asked, grabbing his glass of water.

"I guess so," Arthur said. He swished the ice around in his sweet tea, his frown deepening.

"So, who was the last person you spent Valentine's Day with?" Eames asked, leaning back in the booth.

"I don't remember," Arthur said. "I never really dated anyone."

"Really?" The shock was real in Eames' voice, and Arthur met his eyes.

"Look at our job, Eames. Do I really have time to worry about someone else?" he asked.

"Well no, but I've been in lots of relationships before, love. Sure they weren't serious, but the bed needs a good warming sometimes," Eames said with a shrug.

"You don't need a relationship for that," Arthur said. "Why are we discussing this?"

"It's bloody Valentine's Day. Why not talk about it?" Eames asked.

Before Arthur could respond, a heavenly aroma entered his nose as the plate holding the brownie was placed between them. The brownie looked as delicious as the other food had looked deadly.

"There's only one fork," he said with a sigh of disappointment.

"Yeah, and?" Eames asked, grabbing said fork and scooping up a mixture of brownie and ice cream. He slipped it into his mouth, trying not to laugh at Arthur's barely controlled envy.

"I want some of it," Arthur said.

Eames scraped up another bit and held his fork out. "Open."

The Point Man's nose wrinkled. "Um I don't-"

The brownie was shoved into his mouth and Arthur had no choice but to swallow it unless he wanted to choke. A bit of ice cream trailed down his chin and Eames leaned forward to swipe at it with his finger, licking it off the tip before Arthur could react.

"There. Now the rest is mine. I love these things," Eames said.

Arthur didn't protest as the man quickly finished up, dropped a twenty dollar bill on the table and stood. Together they walked back out into the cold, and even though the walk to their car was only thirty seconds, by the time Arthur closed the door his hands were frozen.

"Let's get to the hotel before I die," he stuttered out between chattering teeth.

"Yeah, yeah, shut up."

 

-.-

 

Arthur shook the last packet of Dinosaur Snackies as he contemplated what he was about to do with them. Eames was in the shower, and taking a very long time at that. With a sigh, he placed the packet on the man's pillow and grabbed the notepad and pen on the night stand.

Hastily, he scrawled out the message and then placed it on top of the packet. When the bathroom door opened, Arthur was waiting with his clothes and quickly swapped places with the man so he wouldn't have to be in the room when Eames finally found the little gift.

His shower was quick, as the Forger had used up most of the hot water and Arthur wasn't in the mood to get any colder. As he toweled his hair, he opened the bathroom door, pausing when he saw Eames leaning against the opposite wall, arms folded across his chest.

"I feel like you're trying to tell me something, darling," he said quietly. His gaze was burning.

"You mean a lot to me Eames. I...just wanted you to know that."

Eames stepped towards him, arms dropping to his sides. "Yeah. Okay." He grabbed Arthur's arm and yanked him forward, pressing a kiss to his forehead, then his nose, and lastly his lips. It was brief, barely a second long, but he found himself leaning into it even as the Forger pushed him back.

"Happy Valentine's Day, Arthur."

"You too," he said.

The other strode back to his bed, slipping under the covers and turning his back. Unsure of how to react, Arthur clicked out the bathroom light, then the lamp in between their beds. The PASIV was once more hidden, but he felt as though he could finally fall asleep without aid, and without any disturbing dreams.

"Eames?"

The man turned back to face him, even though they couldn't read one another's expressions in the darkness. The sound of ruffling covers echoed in the silent room, and realizing it was an invitation, Arthur moved to lay down beside him, sighing at the warmth that was radiating from the other man.

One Eames's arms moved to wrap around his waist, lightly, so he wouldn't feel trapped, and the other slipped under his neck to pillow his head. It was weird, how right it felt, but Arthur was in no mood to protest. So far, Eames had done nothing but help him, and if he was going to let his guard down around anyone, it was going to be the Forger.

He fell asleep to the feel of the man's fingers running through his hair.


	3. The End

Eames was used to rude awakenings. It was practically in the job description. But that didn't mean he was expecting to tossed on the floor with a gun pressed to the back of his head before he even realized he wasn't dreaming.

"Jesus," Arthur hissed, clicking the safety on again and crawling off of him. "Sorry Eames."

Eames picked himself up off the ground, shoulder throbbing. "Oh it's fine love. Most morning afters result in my wallet being stolen." He looked up to see Arthur crook an eyebrow up.

"Your wallet got stolen by a herd of rabid bunnies in the middle of the night. Sorry."

"Bunnies don't travel in herds. Other wise I would believe you," Eames countered. He took a step closer. "So why did you try and kill me?"

"Gut reaction. Won't happen again," Arthur said, rubbing the back of his neck.

"So, if I were to hug you right now, I'd get my ass kicked?" Eames asked.

"I didn't say that," Arthur said.

Eames took another step. "So I can hug you?"

"I didn't say that either," Arthur said, taking a step back as his lips twisted in something similar to a grin.

Eames darted forward and yanked Arthur forward, ignoring the slight twinge in his shoulder before wrapping his arms tight around him. Arthur struggled for a moment, his weak leg threatening to give out from the harsh jerk, but then he relaxed into Eames's comforting grip.

"You slept well last night," Eames said quietly into his neck.

Arthur squirmed at the feel of stubble against his neck but then relaxed again. "Watching me while I sleep? You pervert."

"You shared your snacks with me. I think that means I'm allowed to do what I want," Eames said, chuckling.

"I can revoke those privileges at any time," Arthur said as he pulled away. "Just so you know."

"You wound me love."

 

-.-

 

Arthur tapped away on his laptop, mind whirling. He had a very important question to ask Eames, but he wasn't sure if he could ask it without getting the desired results. Sleeping with Eames beside him the night before had indeed been relaxing, but he could still feel how disjointed his mind felt. Frustrated by the lack of work he was able to get done, he shut the laptop once more. Of course, that left him with nothing to do.

Thoughts would drift off when normally they wouldn't, his focus was shot, and his nervous twitch that ended with Eames on the floor was stronger than before. Eames had already had to pry his fingers off the arm of the seat because he was leaving marks in it from his nails.

"Is there any specific reason you're tearing up the upholstery or are you turning into a cat?" Eames asked.

"Definitely turning into a cat," Arthur said, not sparing him a glance.

Eames put his hand on top of Arthurs, lacing their fingers together in such a way that the Point Man couldn't claw at the armrest. "Well, I like my car to not be ruined."

"Not your car."

"Tell me what's wrong."

Arthur went silent, not having an easy response. The way Eames's thumb rubbed over the back of his hand made him feel jumpy at first, but after a few minutes he began to get used to it.

"My mind feels unorganized," Arthur said after a while. "I slept well, but I'm unable to think clearly."

"You weren't able to think clearly to begin with love," Eames pointed out.

"But it's worse now."

"Have you thought that maybe you just aren't used to it?" Eames asked. "The human mind is unorganized and chaotic by nature, and mediation is good and all, but there comes a point when you're not allowing yourself to feel anything at all."

"That's because..." Arthur stopped, not wanting to the dig the hole he was in any deeper.

"Because?" Eames gave his hand a small squeeze, barely noticeable at all.

"Because if I let myself feel anymore, I might do it. Somewhere along the line my need for adrenaline turned into a need to die. It's not so much the rush that leaves me craving more, but the fact that each time I let it get further, get closer," Arthur said. "I cheat death every time no matter how much I want it to end, because my instincts, my subconscious, won't let me give up. So I've been hoping, one of these days, it will finally happen. And I'm terrified."

Eames didn't explode with anger like he thought, instead just driving along silently. He almost wished the Forger would not say anything else at all, would just let Arthur do what he needed to do and stop trying to fix him.

"You could've let them kill you before," Eames said. "Sara and May could've easily overpowered you, in fact that job probably would have gotten you what you wanted. What changed?"

"You."

 

-.-

 

"Arthur?" Eames's voice broke him out of his small nap, the first nap he had allowed himself in ages.

"Huh?" The sky was dark, the sun having set at leas an hour ago, and they were just driving into a city.

"Let's lay the trap tonight," Eames said. "What do I need to know?"

"Eames-"

"If we take them out, I can relax more, love. They want something from me, and I'll feel a whole lot better when they're dead," Eames interrupted.

Arthur shook off the haze of sleep as quickly as possible, mind springing into action. "I...I'm sorry. Of course you're worried and I haven't been paying enough attention to notice." Guilt laid heavy on his mind as he realized for the first time how wound up Eames was, jaw clenched tight, hands pale as they clamped down on the steering wheel.

"Can we just take care of this?"

"Yeah, yeah of course." Arthur straightened, picking his laptop off the floor, tapping a few keys to bring it out of sleep mode. His notes were already open. "May is rich, owns a private jet. She'll be here within a day once she notices the transaction has been made. What type of card are you using?"

Dream workers, especially ones who tended to attract a lot of attention, carried several types of debit and credit cards. They used cash when they could, but in the current age, most hotels preferred a card so they could charge the crap out of people by luring them to take things from the fridge. Most would have at least six different cards; fakes that when used in the right way, could be made to link the alias with the real person. Arthur had five, all under different names. The other two he rarely used and as far as he was aware, they had yet to be connected to him.

Arthur Milton, Thomas Worthington, William Carter, were the others and he had been hired under. Only one had his real first name, and that was the one he used less frequently then he had before. It was as if the name 'Arthur' had been sectioned off into a certain part of his life, the Inception part.

"A fake, Jonathan Eames," Eames said. "It wasn't the one she used to track me, but it's still fairly well known."

"You know how she tracked you?" Arthur asked.

"I checked into a hotel. Two hours later, they broke in. Seems pretty obvious to me," Eames said.

"Were you doing a job?" Arthur asked.

"Yeah, for uh, some rich banker in the city. Had to get some account numbers from someone," Eames said.

Arthur stared at him, then began typing. "What hotel, and what card?"

"Mayfield, Abvar Smith," Eames said.

Arthur began to tap away furiously, accessing the hotel's records in a matter of minutes. He began to take notes once more, mind racing at the possibilities. He had a sinking suspicion that they had both been had.

"Uh, love? Care to let me into that wonderful mind of yours?"

"We were set up." Arthur froze. "Abvar Smith, room 417. William Carter, 416. That is not a coincidence. Did you choose your hotel?"

"No. That's where the job was supposed to take place," Eames said. "Well this is wonderful."

"Give me the banker's name," Arthur ordered.

"Edward Smith."

"Oh lovely. That's the name of my mark," Arthur said.

"So you have information on him?" Eames asked.

"Well, yeah. He's a simple guy who had a grudge against my employer's sister and made sure she ended up in jail. Except that information probably isn't right at all," Arthur said. "He's not real. He can't be."

"You saw him though," Eames said. "Why would they use the same guy when he had nothing to do with the situation?"

"But if he's out to get you, why would he give us his name? Edward's been working at this bank for years, there's no way he could've forged all of that information," Arthur said.

"Could you?" Eames asked.

"Well yeah. It'd take awhile, but finding information and covering my trail with false fluff is my job," Arthur said.

"Then what makes you think he can't do the same?"

"I...he has no reason to. That's what doesn't make sense. Why be the mark and the employer?"

"He's testing us," Eames said. He pulled into this parking lot of a nice hotel, not one of the shady, cash-only ones they had been staying in. "God knows why, but he is."

"If this turns into another Saito thing, I'm shooting him in the head," Arthur said darkly.

"So once we make the transaction, we have a day, maximum to prepare," Eames said, exiting the car.

"We need to think this through-"

Eames slammed his hands down on top of the car. "I'm done fearing for our lives. Screw his motivation. Let's just take May out and use her to get back to the employer." It was the most out of control Arthur had seen Eames in awhile, and he realized for the first time since he had seen Eames' beaten form on the floor, how deep they were. He wet his lips.

"Should we call in back up?" It was a last resort option. A clear I'm-scared-out-of-my-fucking-mind admission.

"No," Eames said. "We do this ourselves, and you better not die on me."

"If you're still in danger, I won't let my desires control me."

Eames's gaze softened. "After this Arthur, we're taking care of you. I'm going to eradicate that worm of self-hate that's festering in your brain, but first, let's kill the psychopaths."

 

-.-

 

"This is definitely our guy," Eames said, peering at the screen over Arthur's shoulder. "Sick leave as of ten minutes ago, and a plane ticket from the nearest airport. It's got to be him."

Arthur had spent the last hour hacking into the bank's records, tracking every move Edward made that the bank felt was worth noting. Phone calls, a few emails, and when he called in sick. Arthur began to look through the phone record again, eyes scanning and processing how long each call was and the number.

"Unlisted, seven seconds long, two minutes before he called in sick," Arthur said, cursor pointing.

"Probably May. Can you get the number, even if it's unlisted?" Eames asked.

Arthur frowned. "Should I be insulted that you even had to ask?"

"Sorry love. Just anxious. If he left then it means they're coming to take us down together, and they might bring back up."

Arthur frowned. "Go take a shower. I'll have everything when you're done, but you need to try and relax, or you'll be useless once they show up."

"You seem more alert now than you have been in awhile," Eames commented as he headed for the bathroom.

"I'm finally doing real work again," Arthur said. "Something that matters."

Eames paused, then walked back towards him. "You suggesting I matter, love? Is that what I'm hearing?"

"I thought that was obvious. Go take your shower. I'm working," Arthur said.

Arthur continued to work, tracing the number and using its signal to figure out where it was currently and whom it was registered to. The name he was given was Joanna Darling, one of May's many aliases, and given how things played out, he was as convinced as Eames was that Edward, if that was his real name, was the one trying to take Eames down. His instincts told him to hop back in the car and start running, but he knew that Eames was right as well. They had to end this now.

The bathroom door opened and Eames stepped through, dressed in his normal clothing as he approached Arthur, an odd expression on his face.

"Is something wrong?" Arthur asked, turning to face him.

"I'm terrified. May's ruthless and the people that hire them...are usually worse," he said. "I..."

"We can still run," Arthur said, even though he knew Eames would never go for it.

"No."

"Then-"

Eames crossed the space between them, pressing his lips to Arthur's in a hard kiss. Arthur arched into it without a thought, half rising out of the chair even as Eames pushed him down, one hand carding through his hair. It would've been a surprise, but it felt so normal. He could taste the other's desperation, and he responded in kind as if it were the most natural reaction.

He could've thought about it, thought about why the Eames's touch didn't make him want to run, but it just didn't register in his mind as important as their tongues twined together. Somehow, he managed to leave his seat, pressing up against Eames, gasping as their lips disconnected to press to his jaw, then his neck, then further down, unbuttoning his shirt to press at his chest.

Arthur watched, gaze hazy as Eames tongued his nipple and continued to slide down, tongue tracing his path. It was then that he gained some semblance of control back over his body and he tugged at Eames's shoulder, forcing him back into a standing position. Before he could question anything though, Eames had silenced him with another kiss, apparently hell bent on not talking.

For awhile, he allowed it, but as his mind slowly returned to him, he began to push Eames away, trying to ignore how good the man's hands felt trailing against the sensitive skin of his stomach.

"Eames," he murmured against his lips, moaning softly as Eames suckled at his lower lip, then dipped his tongue back into for another taste.

Finally, he pushed Eames away completely. As their eyes met, the realization of what they had just done seemed to sit heavily on them.

"I...I'm sorry," Eames said. "I haven't been able to keep a hold of myself very well it seems." He stepped forward and began to re-button Arthur's shirt, their lips brushing together for a brief moment before he backed away. "Do you regret it?"

"Not really," Arthur said. "But we don't have time for this Eames."

"I know."

"We'll talk, really talk, after."

Eames nodded. "You have your gun?"

"Under my pillow."

"You take first watch."


	4. Ascension

All in all, catching May was anti-climactic and it was only what came after that proved to be a problem. The woman had led the charge, smashing the window open and diving through, only to have Eames tackle her to the ground and slam her head into the wall. Arthur hurled the covers back, aiming his gun out the window, waiting for the barest flicker of movement. His eyes caught something on the roof of the building next to them, but even as he fired, Eames slumped to the ground in front of him.

Arthur rolled off the bed and onto the ground beside his companion to check his pulse, turning him over to see a dart buried in his arm. Whatever the dart contained was potent, for Eames was already well within the realm of sleep. Heart pounding, Arthur ducked further beneath the window. As expected, May had done something stupid, but whoever was working with her had actually been thinking, and was prepared with a back up plan. And probably a few other back up plans, just in case.

"Eames, you idiot. I knew we should've thought this through."

Even so, the race in his heart made his blood sing, and he wished, only for a moment, that the rest of May's team would charge through the door so he could face them head on. But then, finally, he registered the reality of the situation. Eames was down, May could wake up at any time, and there were one or more people just waiting for him to make himself known so they could punch him full of bullets or darts. It was apparent that whoever was out there, they wanted access to Eames's dreams, his mind. The question was, where did they have the best chance of survival? In real life? Or the dream?

The answer was clear, and Arthur knew that the time had come for him to take a chance, and hope for once that it was sleep, not death, that stole him away.

 

-.-

 

"Dammit, Arthur!"

Arthur's eyes flashed open as a hand slapped at his face. Eames stood above him, confusion and frustration in his eyes. "Where are we?"

"A dream," Eames said, offering a hand to help him sit up. "Mine."

Arthur glanced around, taking in the dark gray cement walls, windowless, and only one door.

"Did you make this?" Arthur asked as he began to walk around and examine the building, heading for the door.

"Ah, don't do that," Eames said.

Arthur froze, mind racing as he thought of his options. There was a severe lack of pet nicknames and while the rhythm of his voice and his stance were similar, something was off. He eased the gun out of his pocket as he turned, aiming at Eames bewildered face.

"Uh, love?"

"Eames doesn't mind where I go in his dreamscape, and the pet names are coming a little late. You're a good Forger but you should've done your research better."

Arthur didn't hesitate to fire off his gun, turning his gaze away from the bloodied form of Eames. Fear was a cold hunk of lead in his gut as he turned back tot he door, holding his gun close as he tested the handle, then flung it inwards. It banged against the wall, the sound echoing up the tightly wound spiral staircase, the lighting dark. Hesitant, he made his way up, testing each stair as he climbed higher and higher, twitching at the slightest moan and groan of the building.

If that had been the real Eames, then he was awake and hopefully running for his life, and if it were a fake, well they'd have something serious to deal with when they got out of the dream. The thoughts turned themselves over and over in his head, refusing him even the smallest bit of relaxation. So tense was he that he didn't realize the staircase ended until he ran into the door. It opened just as easily as the last one.

He couldn't help but recoil at the sound of the screaming wind, ducking back as the rain pelted in thick drops around him. He was thoroughly soaked before he could duck back inside, and his eyes strained to see through the rain. A gun pressed to his back and after his breath caught, he was shoved forward, back into the rain. Thunder rumbled in the distance as the owner of the gun pressed closer, the all too familiar feel of Eames's body pressing against his back.

"Took me awhile to find you," Eames said into his ear. "I was worried you had gotten captured, but when I saw the dead guy...well."

"Eames, what are you doing?" Arthur asked

Their voices were quiet despite the pounding rain and thunder. "Just trust me."

The gun buried in his lower back pushed him forward, guided him closer to the edge of the roof, and his legs obeyed the outside command. His toes slid over the edge, kicking gravel into the darkened street below, where mottled humanoid shapes gathered. Lightning cracked, orange and red, lancing through the dark clouds and revealing the scene below, where May and Edward had Eames wrestled to the ground, on his knees and staring up at him.

"Not a word, love. They don't know I'm here. In fact, they think I'm their teammate." Eames voice was quiet, but his ears cued in. "They think the person down there is me and that I am one of their team."

"How do I know you're really you?"

Lightning hissed again, striking down on the edge of the building and vaporizing the stone.

"You'll have to trust me."

"Eames."

"I'm going to save you, Arthur. I'm going to save us both."

Arthur stared down. "Your projection. Will he last?"

"He's going to tell them what I know eventually. The secret to their plan was to make sure we never met up until they had us right where they wanted us," Eames said, his hand trailing down Arthur's spine. The touch, even with the rain and the cold set his body afire in a very familiar way. He had felt Eames touch before, but it was muted in comparison to the connection he felt now, the way it made his heart pound and blood roar so loud he could barely hear the storm.

"When we get out of this...we have to move fast. No questions asked," Eames said.

Arthur nodded, edging closer to the drop. "It's a far enough fall. We'll die on impact."

"But it's no real death, Arthur. You'll wake up back in reality," Eames said. "Does that scare you?"

Arthur turned to look at Eames, the real Eames, his Eames, directly in the eye. "As long as you're with me...no, I'm not afraid."

Eames grabbed his hips and pushed him back a little further. Arthur wrapped his arms around his neck and brought their lips together, just once. Then he pulled, tugging them both off the edge. Lightning flashed, thunder rumbled, and screams rent the air, but their eyes never broke their gaze.

They plunged into oblivion together.

 

-.-

 

The shock of waking was always hard to shake off no matter how many times it happened. Arthur stood quickly, scanning his surroundings as Eames lurched to his feet. Before he could get a handle on his surroundings, a knife pressed to his throat, another arm snaking around his neck and locking him in place. Adrenaline, hot and pure and for once untainted, pushed through him and he reacted, clawing at the skin between the man's fingers to make him drop the knife before flipping him over his shoulder and onto the hard ground. A gunshot rang out and the man lay still.

"You look dashing love," Eames said, twirling the gun and aiming it at Edward and May.

"No questions?" Arthur asked.

Eames lips hardened into a flat line. "Don't worry. They've been answered."

Two more shots and it was over.

 

-.-

 

It didn't occur to Arthur until a few hours later to check that he was really in reality. Between fleeing the hotel and covering their tracks, neither of them really had a moment to breath until they were a mile outside the city. Arthur pulled over and their eyes met, the message clear. They exited the car, staying on their respective sides as they pulled out their totems. Arthur tossed the dye a few times in the air, then rolled it across the ground.

A three.

"Arthur." Eames's voice carried easily in the near silent dawn.

"Yeah?"

"Come kiss me."

Arthur obeyed, standing and walking around the car and into Eames's near crushing embrace. Their lips met in a fury of heated desperation, and Arthur finally released the tight hold on his mind and threw himself into the chaotic storm of his feelings. Love wasn't a question, just a fact, a statement, so clear it was like a brand on his mind, a brand so different from that of Inception. There was no fear in this, no adrenaline, just the taste of Eames's tongue, the touch of his broad hand spreading out across Arthur's lower back, the feel of their bodies locking together just so.

"Eames," he whispered, eyes half lidded as he spoke against the other's lips. "I...I..."

"Love you," Eames finished. "I love you."

"I love you too."

 

-.-

 

"What happened to you down there?"

Arthur didn't answer the Eames' question for awhile, keeping his gaze rooted on the road. "Something changed. I don't know what caused it but I...I realized being alive was a lot more interesting then dying. I was scared of dying, and not just because I'd be leaving you alone, but because I...I wanted to keep living."

"Inception?"

Arthur chuckled. "They were amateurs. The structure of the dream wouldn't have allowed for an Inception I was unaware of. No, this idea came from me. It's not like it was my dream anyways."

Eames reached out, stealing one of his hands from the wheel to fold it in his own. Arthur gave it a tentative squeeze, then looked at him. "What about you? You said you got your answers?"

Eames shifted in the seat, giving a small sigh as he thought. Arthur waited patiently, realizing how much lighter his chest felt, but before he could analyze the thought further, Eames began to speak. Not once did his gaze meet Arthur's.

"When I arrived in the dream, Edward was waiting for me. We were in a room, no windows, and May was guarding the door. They wanted information about my...my twin brother," Eames said. "He's an important guy, a free lance spy if you will. Apparently, so was Edward, but he's a little different from my brother, more sadistic." Eames chuckled. "Impressive when you think about it really. He wanted to know where my brother was, since he slid off the grid about four years ago right before cashing in a lot of sensitive info for a large check. His client was Edward, and he had already paid my brother.

"So he went crazy and tried to get information from you, in a very complicated manner I might add, because your brother stiffed him?" Arthur shook his head. "And he told you this why?"

"He was going to drop us into limbo if he didn't get what he wanted," Eames said with a shrug. "Then he could show my brother my brain dead body as revenge when he finally found him. He had nothing to lose if I knew. Knowledge of one's impending doom makes the chase all the more exhilarating."

"I've never hunted anyone down like that. It makes no sense to torture they prey like that when you could get the information out of him another, easier way," Arthur said.

Eames released his hand. "My brother enjoyed the chase just as much as Edward. Gotta keep the job interesting when you're a bloody assassin."

Arthur's eyes narrowed, but when he snuck another glance at the Forger, he was looking out the window. "So what happened next?"

"Well, Edward was no dream worker, and May has no brains, so they had accidentally made me the dreamer. Or maybe Edward just wanted the challenge." Eames waved a hand dismissively. "Either way, they were distracted by their teammate, a Forger who I used to work with. Apparently he was supposed to be taking care of you but instead he had been talking to May and had to try and find you before me. I used the distraction to break away and followed after him, then had a projection change to look like me. By the time they caught onto my projection, I was well on my way to finding you.

"Took awhile to break into the building, but when I did, you had already killed the Forger. I followed you up and well, you know the rest."

Silence reigned. Arthur twisted Eames's words around in his head, overanalyzing them and picking them apart until he could separate everything into truth and questionable.

"You don't have a brother, do you Eames?" Arthur asked.

"No."

Arthur was glad to know he had guessed correctly, but the feeling was lost under the thought that Eames had lied to him, now, of all times. "So why did you lie?"

"I didn't," Eames said, another sigh leaving him. "Really love, this isn't anything you need to know."

"Really? Because I've told you a lot of  _shit_  I've never told anyone else because you're a nosy bastard who can't help himself. The least you could do is repay the god damn favor and tell me why those maniacs were after us!" Arthur bit the inside of his cheek, refusing to say anything more that could make the situation worse.

"Not now. Let's get food or something," Eames said.

"Fine."

 

-.-

 

Arthur's stomach seemed to be doing its best to recover from his poor diet by grumbling until he had gone through two full meals at the restaurant. Eames had only chuckled and said if there was any doubt regarding the Point Man's transformation, it was soothed by his intake of something besides fruit snacks. Arthur had just glared and cut into his second steak.

But now their plates were empty and the small talk Eames had been using to keep the more serious topics at bay petered out.

"I didn't lie, not to you. I can't stress that enough," Eames said.

"When I looked you up, your records say you have a twin brother."

Eames started. "You know my real name?"

"And apparently so did Edward. Start talking Eames," Arthur said.

"He died when we were 24. That was about six years ago, and I took on his job afterwards because I had nothing better to do and he left me all his files. I got someone to make sure his government file remained the same, destroyed his death certificate. As far as everyone else knows, he's still alive," Eames said.

"Guess that means you have a lot of enemies," Arthur said.

"That's one way to put it, love," Eames said. "I got mixed up with Edward, though he went by a different name back then and looked...quite different. I didn't realize who he was until he started talking down in the dream. The info he wanted back then was sensitive but I couldn't get it off my brother's computer so I ran. A few of my brother's contacts are still in touch with me but they haven't seen me since then."

"But they know he has a twin right? They haven't come after you? The real you, I mean."

"Edward's the first actually, but I guess that's because my brother owed him information," Eames said. He twiddled the fork, spinning it around as he glanced down at the table. "I've learned to balance the two. Before I went into hiding, I looked like my brother, but now it's just...this."

"You ever going to say his name?"

Eames shook his head. "It bugs me, hearing it. He's dead and I don't like...I have to respond to both names. I became him for years, and I can't talk about him like he's not me."

"You're different people Eames," Arthur said. "You have to remember that."

"Not anymore really." Eames leaned back. "How much longer until we get to your house love?"

"About a day," Arthur said. "Are you going to stay with me?"

"For awhile," Eames said, raising his gray eyes to meet Arthur's gaze. "Gotta make sure you don't go off the deep end again."

"Only want to be around me if you have something to fix?" Arthur asked. His tone was light, but from the way the Forger's knee bumped up against his, Eames understood how serious he was being.

"Maybe I just want an excuse to stay nearby," Eames said.

"You never needed an excuse," Arthur said. "We need to talk about us."

"What's there to talk about? Just let it develop as it will." Eames leaned forward. "You don't need to put a label on everything and store it away into a small section of your life. It'll control you."

Arthur regarded Eames as realization dawned on him. For all his laid back banter, Eames had an even tighter control on himself than Arthur did. It made sense then, Eames's concern for him. The Forger had watched himself self-destruct, he had to have recognized the signs. "Eames."

"Let's go, darling. I'm tired."

 

-.-

 

Arthur shut his laptop as the bathroom door opened and Eames emerged a first aid kit in hand. He tossed it to Arthur who pulled out the necessary items to re-bandaged Eames's wound. He was quick and methodic, but as he packed the bandages away, the energy in the room changed. Eames wrapped an arm around his waist and brushed his lips against his neck, stubble scratching against his skin in a pleasant manner.

"Arthur love?"

"Hm?" Arthur latched the kit shut.

"Can I show you some things? Before we talk about us."

Arthur nodded and pulled himself out of Eames's grip. "I would be honored. You've never really...opened up to me before and I can't deny that I've been interested."

"The PASIV is in my bag. Set it up for an hour."

 

-.-

 

When Arthur opened his eyes, he was sitting on the edge of a roof, legs dangling over the edge. On the dirt streets below, people wandered through a market, the smells of Indian food wafting through the air and into his nose. There was a scuffle of shoes and then Eames was sitting beside him.

"Love, before we go on, you have to promise me something," Eames said.

Arthur turned. He wasn't used to seeing such worry in the Forger's eyes, but their journey together had shown him a few new sides, made him realize that Eames was human. Not just a coworker. Not just a sometimes obnoxious Forger. "What is it?"

"Promise you won't judge me or try to change this," Eames said.

Arthur scoffed. "You followed me, against my will, because you wanted me to change my lifestyle. Granted, I'm better off now, but if you have a problem, I'm going to help."

"I figured you'd say that. Good enough," Eames said. He got to his feet, dusting off his slacks and then offering Arthur a hand to help.

Eames led him across the roof to a small trap door, exposing a ladder into a brightly lit room below. It was a tight fit, and the room was entirely empty except for the door. The floor was sand stone, the door made of three planks of wood. All in all, it felt like he had been dropped into the universe of Aladdin, which when he thought about it made sense. Eames was a thief after all, of personalities and information, and tended to have an inflated view of himself.

"This entire building contains some of my most important memories, good and bad," Eames said, fingers dancing along the doorknob. "It's dangerous, because there's a chance my enemies could find things out about me but mostly, I'm able to deal with it. I'm trained enough."

Arthur put his hand on the knob over Eames's hand. "Let's be quick. I don't want to invade your privacy longer than necessary."

Eames opened the door to reveal a long hallway, lit by candles in between the many doors. Arthur followed close beside him, their hands brushing together, until Eames stopped, opening the door. Beyond the doorway was a projector screen, but no actual projector, and the walls, like the hall, were lit by flickering candles. Eames's hand slid through his, and the Forger drew him down so they were both sitting side by side.

No sooner had they settled, images began to flicker on the screen. It was from Eames's point of view, from when he was younger if he were to guess from the way he was looking up. The man he was looking up at was in a trim business suit, his gaze hidden by his sunglasses, and his chin crooked up.

"Stop crying. You embarrassed your mother," he said, stepping back. "You have disappointed us both with your behavior tonight."

"I'm sorry," Eames said. The voice was high-pitched and young, meek, nothing like the strength the Forger commanded now. "I just...I thought it would be okay-"

"You thought it would be okay?" His father's voice boomed, echoing around the small room. "You aren't a child! You can't just run around like that."

"But e-everyone else was!"

The man stepped forward, but before he had the opportunity to enact whatever action he had planned, Eames was shoved aside. His defender was a small boy, his brown hair short and neatly slicked to the side, and dressed in a suit that looked more expensive than Arthur's entire wardrobe. The man stepped back and then turned away to disappear further down the hall.

"God, I always have to take care of you," he sighed, turning to look at Eames. The gray eyes were steel, not a hint of the warmth Arthur had grown so used to seeing in Eames's gaze.

"I'm sorry."

"Just...learn to be more like me. Then you'll be fine." His twin gave a smile, but all emotion froze in his eyes. The image flickered and faded, leaving the two alone in the flickering candlelight.

"That is the worst memory of my childhood. Mostly, things were smooth sailing, but that one event changed me. My brother was always in control, and because of that, they loved him. So from that day on, I strove to be just like him and family relationships improved as a result. But I lost track of who  _I_  was." Eames stood, his back to Arthur. "Eventually I broke and I was lucky enough to be able to put myself together. My brother broke way before me though, when he was sixteen. Ran away, became a freelance spy and turned into a bloody psychopath. He never put himself back together."

Arthur got to his feet, trying to process what Eames had told him. "It's weird. I didn't realize how much you were like me, are  _still_  like me, until recently. When you fixed me...it was like you were fixing yourself." The Point Man moved to stand in front of him, trying to read Eames's expression. "Wasn't it?"

"Yeah," Eames said as he met his gaze. "Though I was nowhere near as mad as you were love. You lost your bloody mind for awhile there."

Arthur offered a smirk in response before trailing after the Forger into the hall. At the end of the hall, a door opened to reveal a spiral staircase, its winding steps almost identical to those in their previously shared dream. Before Arthur could voice the observation, Eames began to speak, voice bouncing off the walls.

"This building always shows up in my mind. I can't help it. I can distort it though, if I think I need to. That's how I hide it. Things I care about tend to end up in here."

"Ah."

Eames paused and turned to look at him, a hint of a smile on his lips. "That's how I knew where you would be before May and the other's did. My mind instinctively tucked you away, probably thinking you were a memory."

Arthur slipped closer, enjoying how for once he was a little taller than Eames. "Hold a lot of memories of me in here?"

Eames crooked an eyebrow up and pushed closer, one of his hands pressing to Arthur's hip, bunching up the fabric so he could trail his fingers over his smooth skin. Their lips found each other for a moment, but then Eames was gone, a light laugh on his lips as he continued on down the stairwell. They continued on down for what felt like forever, and the air around them grew progressively colder, the passage tighter, until finally their shoulders were scraping at the walls.

Eames stopped before an iron door, pressing his forehead against the cool metal as Arthur took the final step down. The Forger's breath was harsh and Arthur hesitantly rubbed at his back, trying to offer support.

"This is my worst memory. Of my life. I...haven't looked at this in awhile," Eames said. "I try not remember this, but you need to know."

"It's going to be fine," Arthur said.

Eames pushed the door open. The room was pitch black besides the faint glow of gray static on the screen. The Forger did not lead him in as he had before, instead just closing the door and leaning against the far wall with Arthur beside him. The static popped and burst, then the image began to play.

 

-.-

 

_Eames closed his laptop as the door clicked open. He swiveled quickly in his chair, pointing his gun at the intruder. The man was a carbon copy of Eames, the only differences being a slightly shaggier hair cut, and a crazed look in his eyes. A shoulder bag was slung over his left shoulder, papers overflowing out of it. The gun in Eames hand wavered and fell, and his alarm and shock was so strong that Arthur could practically feel it._

_"James?"_

_"Hello," James said, kicking the door shut. He staggered closer, one leg periodically buckling beneath his weight, and then threw the bag onto the bed. "How have you been?"_

_Eames pushed the chair back and stood before swinging his gun up to point at his twin. "What are you doing here James? How did you even find me?"_

_James moved faster than what seemed possible, hands grabbing at Eames's shoulders. "Didn't think I'd leave you to fend for yourself, did you? I've always been watching you. Making sure you're safe." He jerked back, stumbling away. The once hardened gaze was fluid in its changes between emotions, never settling on one for longer than a heartbeat. "I'm so sick of all this...this life. All I do is lie and cheat and steal, and it's terrible but I love it. And I'm sick of it. I have a legacy though. I can't leave yet."_

_James turned away then spun back, ripping the gun out of Eames hands before slipping closer. "I've been searching for the right person and it finally came to me. Who better to carry out my wishes, than you?"_

_"James, you're not making any sense," Eames said, voice shaking in its panic. "Just tell me what's wrong."_

_"Nothing is wrong." James held the gun up to his temple. "I'm just tired."_

_"Don't do this. God, James. Just give me the gun," Eames said._

_"Promise me-"_

_"James-"_

_"That you'll carry out all my plans-"_

_"God dammit! I promise, just give me the gun!"_

_"Everything is on my laptop. Every last thing-"_

_"Give my the gun! Dammit James, you're my brother!"_

_"Goodbye."_

_The gunshot rang out, but the image was distorted as Eames ducked and looked away._

 

-.-

 

The screen flicked for a moment, and then the entire room was bathed in darkness. Arthur shifted closer to Eames, wrapping a tentative arm around his waist. There was no sound, but the occasional shake, the irregularity of the rise and fall of his shoulders was all Arthur needed to feel to know how vulnerable Eames was feeling. At some point, they ended up sitting on the ground with their arms wrapped around one another. Eames didn't seem like the type who wanted to talk for comfort, which left Arthur with time to work through what the Forger had shown him.

It showed a lot. Eames's dependency on his twin early on had to have affected him somehow, perhaps made him feel more obligated to become his twin and live out of his legacy. Even if it wasn't healthy. Which made him wonder why Eames had ever bothered to stop. It was possible that it was the level of danger, but Arthur wasn't convinced.

"Eames? Why did you stop?" Arthur asked. "You seemed pretty dedicated to your brother."

"I am. I was. But I had too," Eames said. "My own work picked up and it was becoming too dangerous to actively portray my brother and myself at the same time. I couldn't handle it, so I stopped."

"You ever thought of going back?" Arthur clenched his jaw, realizing he had asked the question without real respect for the topic.

"Don't know. There's a lot still stored in his computer," Eames said.

Arthur hesitated a moment, trying to figure out the best way to phrase his question. "I could...get around his passwords. If there's information you wanted I mean."

Eames chuckled, leaning closer into Arthur's grip. "For now, I'm content to let his memory rest. Or at least start to put it to rest. I haven't yet, but maybe I should start."

Before Arthur could respond, his vision tunneled and he was waking up on the hotel bed. Eames unhooked himself from the machine and rolled off the bed, taking his time to walk around to Arthur's side. Arthur sat up and tried to organize what he wanted to say, finally settling on,

"Thank you. For showing me that."

"Now you know all my dark secrets," Eames said, a new light entering his eyes as he moved closer. "I laid everything open for you, and you haven't run away." Eames slung one leg up to straddle his hips, readjusting so he was settled on his lap. "That is a very good sign."

Arthur craned his neck back as Eames leaned in. "Thought we were talking about this."

Eames's gaze was burning as their eyes met. "Oh we'll talk. I just want a kiss first."

Arthur's response was cut off by Eames's lips, and he was thankful that for once he wasn't wearing a suit as Eames's grip slid up to grasp at his shirt. It was hard, for Arthur to feel the connection between them, and not recoil at the intensity. The kiss was hot, tempting, and practically begging Arthur to forget all rational thought and just give in. But he pushed Eames away, barely managing to get a control over himself.

"Talking. Please."

Eames gave a soft, mocking groan and eased himself back. "Ever since you've expressed even a bloody  _hint_  of interest in me love, I've longed to throw you down on a bed and fuck you senseless."

Arthur felt his ears grow red, and he glanced away. He was nowhere near a blushing virgin, given that he was in his late twenties and had been comfortable in his sexuality for years before that, but Eames's words had twisted his stomach in knots. And not in an entirely bad way either. Eames gave a low chuckle and pulled himself away to flop down on the bed beside him. Difficult as it was, Arthur pulled his wits back together.

"As much as I'd love for that to happen, we should talk."

"You're very good at talking, love. Almost too good." Eames pulled Arthur close, resting his chin on the Point Man's shoulder. "So. Let's talk."

"What do you want out of this?"

"Hm, an interrogation, love?"

Arthur jabbed the other man in the ribs. "I'm being serious."

"I know, I know." Eames kissed the tip of his ear. "I just want you, Arthur. We've worked together before, and I've always been interested in you as a person. You were always so bizarre to me. So rooted in reality, it was almost like you were lost. And then all this happened and I think I love you, darling."

"Love is a strong word," Arthur said. He picked up one of Eames's hands, examining and tracing the lines he found on his palm. "But I would be dead if it weren't for you. You've begun to fix me Eames and in a way...it's made me love you." He paused. "Love is weird for me Eames."

"Me too," Eames said. "So let's work through it together. Can you agree to that?"

Arthur nodded. "But I want to sleep now."

"I can agree to that," Eames said, nuzzling his neck. "Now get out of my bed before I decided to ravish you."

Arthur pulled himself away, the flush spreading up his neck once more. "Thank you Eames." He turned to look at the Forger now that he was a safe distance away. "For everything."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was painfully hard to write. I changed my mind about six times before the original posting with what I wanted Eames's past to be like, and whether or not to tell you what his brother's name was. One version of this chapter, he doesn't even have a brother. I rewrote this chapter way too many times to be healthy, so I hope what you read was decent and up to par.


	5. Beginnings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lots of fun action in this chapter. Reviews are loved. Thanks for reading.

Eames was too patient, too nice, and it was too good to be true. It drove Arthur up the wall. After their conversation, Arthur decided to put his normal apprehension aside and allow Eames to see the place he called home, and let him stay for what was now a week. Every morning, Arthur ended up tossing Eames out of bed before realizing who he was, and each time Eames offered him a smile, a kiss, then hopped into the shower.

It took three days for Arthur to stop jumping when Eames walked into the room, but Eames never commented on it. His skittishness stemmed from a combination of having someone in his house when no one had been before, and from the fact that for the first time in months, he was staying in one place for longer than a few days. His body urged him to run before his thoughts could catch up with him, but there was nothing dangerous in his thoughts. No urge to plunge into danger, to die. His body had yet to notice the difference.

"Why are you still here?" Arthur asked one morning as he spread peanut butter over his toast. It was an early morning, as he had finally decided to take up another job, a short one, one that he had actually done enough research for so that he knew it wouldn't be too dangerous. Eames had gotten up with him, after he had been flipped onto the floor once more.

"Because I love you," Eames said. "And I really want to know what happens when you greet me with a kiss instead of the floor in the morning."

Arthur rolled his eyes and set the plate with his breakfast on the island. Eames was leaning over his own cup of coffee on the island, and he reached forward to steal a section off Arthur's toast. "It just doesn't seem worth it."

"I've endured your almost panic attacks and more for the last bloody week and a half. You really think you can scare me off at this point?" Eames asked, crooking an eyebrow up. "You're stuck with me darling."

"I just keep expecting you to leave," Arthur said, then shoved some of the toast into his mouth before he said something stupid.

"Love means we work through things together, no matter how difficult darling. When you feel like telling me why you're still jumpy at everything, let me know," Eames said.

"It's stupid," Arthur said as he finished his toast. "It's just...my body hasn't caught up with the change in my mind. It's so used to me running around and almost dying that it's a bit of a shock for it to be...waiting around. So when you walked in, it kept thinking you were-" He broke off as Eames began to laugh, pushing his coffee away. His eyes narrowed.

"You keep talking about your body like it's not you," Eames managed to get out between his laughs. "You...are so bloody bizarre Arthur, you know that?"

"Well it is! I rely too much on instinct and...I guess my body just isn't back to functioning normally," Arthur said, turning away to put the dish in the sink, washing it slowly so he wouldn't have to face the Forger again.

Eames gave an overdramatic sigh and Arthur could hear him slide off the barstool and pad softly over to stand beside him. Arthur finished drying the plate off and rested his hands on the sink as Eames moved behind him, kissing his neck. "I don't mean to laugh at you. It makes sense, love. Stop being so uptight."

"I don't know how to do this," Arthur said, hanging his head. "This love thing, this...relying on other people thing."

"It's not too hard, love. I think we're doing alright," Eames said. "You need to stop thinking so much." A kiss was placed behind his ear, and for a brief moment, Eames caught his earlobe between his teeth. "Just go with what you feel, for once."

Arthur bucked into the hand that Eames had slid down his waist sometime while he was talking to cup at his soft prick. He teasing contact was enough to get a rise out the Point Man as he fingers curled against the smooth surface of the sink, and Eames hummed against the flesh of his neck to encourage the noise that was struggling to break free of his chest.

"I have to go Eames," he hissed as the man fiddled with his belt buckle. "Seriously."

He shuddered as Eames licked a line up his throat back to his ear, nibbling on it. "But you wouldn't want to show up with one of these would you?" He gave a rough grope to Arthur's hardening arousal before setting to work on undoing his pants once more. "That'd make one hell of a first impression love."

"That's what my hah...right hand is for...Eames!" Arthur's grip on the sink broke and he sank onto his elbows, giving in to Eames's persistence and allowing the Forger to stroke his now free arousal to his heart's content.

"Careful," Eames breathed in his ear. "Don't want to wrinkle this suit of yours."

"Ah, shit," Arthur panted, trying to shove him away. "I don't want stains on this!"

"Only you, darling, would resist a good morning hand job because you don't want to stain your suit," Eames said, then pulled his hand away and moving to his knees. His grip moved to Arthur's hips, spinning him and around and then taking the man's cock into his mouth before any further protests could be made.

"F-Fuck Eames!"

Arthur hated the words coming out of his mouth, hated how easily Eames had undone his self-control, but then, Eames had always had a knack for that regardless of how he did it. Eames pulled back to suckle at the head of his cock, tonguing the tip in a way that felt way too good to be healthy, before bobbing his head back down. Not one to be passive in his pleasure, Arthur began to pump his hips, figuring if he was going to reach his climax, he might as well be quick about it. He did have to get to his appointment.

The rest of his rational thought left him as Eames took him deeper and began to fondle his balls. Eames had a talented mouth and it wasn't long before Arthur gave a final buck of his hips, shooting his load down the other man's throat. Eames pulled back, giving the tip one more teasing suck before getting back to his feet, tucking Arthur's softened prick back into his trousers and redoing his pants with a too smug look on his face.

Arthur felt too good to really complain.

 

-.-

 

Arthur hadn't told Eames, but the job was a test. Sure, it wasn't dangerous, but it had been a test to see if the desire to put himself into a deadly situation was truly gone. He passed it. There were plenty of times where he could've goaded the enemy into attacking him, of when he could've made the situation more dangerous through inaction, but he never bothered. He had a reason to live, and being a dreamworker was all the excitement he needed now.

On his way home, he thought of what it meant. Did it mean he was a more boring person now? Less exciting? Less fun, somehow? Cobb and Eames had both regularly referred to him as a stick in the mud, and then he had turned into an adrenaline junkie. Neither could have argued that it certainly made things more exciting. But now that he was, more or less, back to normal...would Eames still want to be around him? Despite what Eames said, things were beginning to look rather...domesticated between them. He wasn't sure if Eames would want to stick around once he realized that.

Arthur pulled into his driveway and killed the ignition, resting his forehead against the steering wheel. It was weird being able to think clearly once more, and he hadn't even realized how crowded his mind had been until all of the noise was gone. To be honest, Arthur wouldn't have minded to go back to the whirlwind of thoughts. In a way, that was more comforting than being able to think about the possibility of his first real relationship crumbling into bits.

Sighing, Arthur grabbed the PASIV out of the passenger seat and pulled himself out of the car, fumbling with his keys for a moment before opening the door into the living room. Eames was sitting on the couch, book in hand with a pair of reading glasses perched on his nose. His grey eyes examined him over the wired rims as he kicked off his shoes.

"How'd it go, love?" The words were a loaded question. From the tone of voice, Arthur knew that Eames had realized he was testing himself, and was very curious at the results of the test.

"Good. I didn't lose control of myself," Arthur said, letting his lips twitch into the barest of grins. "Maybe because you already let me do that this morning."

"Ah," Eames said, snapping the book shut. "So you're saying I should give you a blow job every morning then?"

Arthur shook his head with a small laugh. "That is not what I'm saying. I'm going to go change."

Eames gave him a nod then reopened his book. Arthur made his way to his bedroom, stripping off his suit as he went. As he hung it up, meticulous in smoothing out the wrinkles, he thought about what he was going to say to Eames. He was so lost in thought he didn't notice Eames had walked into the room until he turned around.

"What's bothering you, darling?" Eames asked, moving to stretch out on the bed.

Arthur grabbed a t-shirt off a hanger and tugged it over his head, not caring for once that it clashed horribly with his sleep pants, before slipping onto the bed besides the Forger. "Nothing."

"You're a terrible liar, at least when you talk to me," Eames said. He shifted to throw an arm over the Point Man's waist, tugging at him until he gave in and rolled onto his side, fitting their bodies together. "What's wrong?"

"I'm going to become dull and boring again," Arthur murmured against Eames's neck, rubbing the top of his foot along the other's calf. "And then you'll want nothing to do with me."

Eames sighed, his breath ruffling the top of Arthur's hair. "Really, how many times are you going to make me say it? I. Am not. Leaving."

"But I'm just going to turn into a stick in the mud," Arthur said.

"You are so far away from being a stick in the mud, Arthur. Honestly. You've made my life much more interesting," Eames said, pushing Arthur onto his back and then rolling on top of him. "And I don't just mean in the last few weeks. Certainly, that was the most fun I've had in a long while, but now we can have a different type of fun."

Arthur snorted, provoking Eames into a dramatic eye roll.

"I don't just mean that type of fun, though I certainly don't mind that either, darling. I mean exploring relationships together. That's a new type of fun I have yet to experience, and I know I won't get bored with you," Eames said. He pressed his forehead to Arthur's, forcing their eyes to meet. The deep gray of his eyes was startlingly bright, even in the fading light streaming through his window, and looking into them, Arthur knew Eames wasn't lying.

"So I guess I've just been being stupid," Arthur said.

"Yes. Very, very stupid. You've seen everything there is to me, and I've seen enough about you to know your brain inside and out," Eames said. "There's nothing there that could scare me, and there's nothing there that makes me like you any less."

"But if learning is all that makes this fun, and you already know everything about me, what's there to make you stay?"

"You are acting uncharacteristically insecure love," Eames said.

Arthur glanced to the side. "Yeah, well, I'm not to keen on the thought of you leaving me, not after all this."

"Fine, you want to know what's going to make me stay?" Eames asked, sitting up and pulling Arthur with him. He grabbed Arthur's chin, making him meet his eyes. "I'll start here. That look in your eyes, that worried look you always carry around even when there's absolutely nothing wrong in the world. Making that worry disappear will make me stay. And we both know that worry will never go away, so that should ensure I'll be around for awhile."

Arthur rolled his eyes, unable to stop the small twitch of his lips up into a smile.

"And there's that. That bloody half smile of yours. I know you're trying to hold it back. I'll stick around so I can see that real smile, the one you can't hold back, and because I'll never get sick of seeing it, I'll stay so I can see it over and over again," Eames said. He leaned forward to give Arthur a soft kiss. "There's your mind too. I don't think I'll ever completely know it, though I know more than I ever thought I would. I know all your secrets, but I don't know the small things. Your favorite color, your favorite food, your favorite smell, your favorite fabric."

"Now you're being ridiculous," Arthur said.

"Not at all. I want to know everything I can," Eames said. "Everything you'll let me know. But it won't be one-sided. After all, I can't have you getting board of me, now can I?"

"Eames, you're crazy. You'll never be boring," Arthur said. "You have too many blinding Hawaiian shirts to be boring."

Eames laughed before moving to press their foreheads together once more. "I'm serious, love. I have every reason in the world to stay with you. In fact...we should start taking more jobs together. I don't want to work with anyone else."

Arthur jolted back, unable to hide the complete surprise in his eyes. Eames's words weren't said lightly, no dreamworker said those words lightly. Working with someone, having a permanent partner, didn't happen often. May and Sara were sisters, so that made sense. Arthur had fallen in with Cobb longer than what he was used to, but that had eventually ended, and they had never really discussed the fact that they took the same jobs the way Eames was now.

"Eames..."

"I know it's hard for you to let people in, love. Especially for as long as you've let me in. But we're getting older, and we can't keep doing this dream stuff for much longer. I want to do my last jobs with you," Eames said.

"What are you saying?" Arthur asked. "I'm not going to be stopping this soon. This...this is my life Eames."

"And it's mine too. But we're going to retire eventually. When that happens...I want it to be with you," Eames said. "Arthur, you get me like no one else has, and I'd like to think that I get you too."

"You do but...that's a serious commitment Eames," Arthur said. "I don't know how to answer that."

"Let's start small," Eames said, crawling forward to push Arthur back down onto the bed. "I can move in." He pressed his lips to Arthur's, a quick and soft kiss. "Then maybe we can get a dog." Another harder kiss, deeper, a way to stop any of Arthur's protests, and the Point Man realized then that Eames was done talking and was more interested in other activities now.

"If you keep saying things like that, I'm kicking you out of my bed," Arthur threatened, breaking their lip lock for a moment.

"Ha, I get it love. No more talking," Eames said, and before Arthur could start talking again, he had begun to nibble at the spot where his neck met his shoulder, drawing a soft moan from the Point Man's lips.

But Arthur wanted his lips, wanted to taste him, so he coaxed Eames back up so he could press their lips together in a hot, warm kiss, sucking Eames's tongue into his mouth to draw out a moan. Arthur liked making Eames lose control. Too often, Eames was in control of the situation, be it a conversation or something else, but this time, Arthur wanted to lead. Eames didn't seem to upset by the development, rolling his hips down as Arthur devoured him.

Arthur wasn't sure where it was escalating, and if he was completely honest with himself, he didn't really care. Or rather he did care because with the way Eames was grinding him into the mattress they were going to have a bit of a problem on their hands, and it was one Arthur wanted remedied in the most pleasurable way possible.

Breath hissing out between his teeth, Arthur clutched at Eames's hair as the man nipped at his throat, hands worming their way up Arthur's shirt before yanking the cloth up and tossing it over the side of the bed. Eames continued his way down, sucking briefly on one of his nipples before blowing on it, drawing a shuddering gasp out of Arthur, and then slipping down to bite at his navel.

"Eames..." Arthur tugged the man back up, smirking a little at the frustrating groan that rumbled in his chest.

"Love, I'm trying to do something," Eames said, bumping their noses together.

"I know, but how far are we going?"

Eames frowned. "However far you want."

"How about all the way then," Arthur said, unable to stop his smirk from spreading into a smile as Eames's eyes widened.

"Love, I didn't get around to buying condoms," Eames said. "I honestly didn't think you were going to trust me enough to do this so soon."

"I trust you're clean, and I know I am so..."

"Arthur, love, stop saying such nice things. I won't be able to stop myself," Eames said, his tone all too serious as he began to pepper the Point Man's jaw with kisses.

"So don't."

Eames gave a final groan of defeat before sealing their lips together, practically sucking the breath out of Arthur's lungs with the intensity. Arthur threw himself into the abyss after that, letting go and just letting himself respond to Eames's searing touch along his sides, his hips, letting the man tug the fabric down so he could grasp at his arousal. At some point he realized how unfair it was that Eames was still clothed and he fought the man's shirt off.

It wasn't odd, seeing one another completely naked. None of it felt odd. It was as if he had been waiting his entire life to be with Eames in every sense of the phrase. He was a little jealous of how toned Eames was, and he drank in the sight of the man's chest greedily, before rolling the man over and pinning him down so that he could explore the myriad of tattoos with his tongue.

"You really love those, don't you?" Eames said with a chuckle, raking his fingers through Arthur's hair.

Arthur propped his chin up on the man's chest, meeting his eyes with a coy smile as his fingers danced down his side. "I've been dreaming of doing that for awhile now."

"Sounds like some interesting dreams."

Arthur gave a snort and then kissed the man again before leaning over him to search around in his bedside drawer, pulling out a not well used tube. He set it down on the pillow as he kissed Eames once more, a softer edge to it then before.

"There's lube there for a reason," he said after a moment, grabbing Eames's wrist and guiding his hand over to it.

Eames's popped the cap and with Arthur's help slicked up three of his fingers. He was teasing in his motions, trailing his fingers down the length of Arthur's spine before toying with his entrance. It had been way too long since Arthur had been with someone, and the teasing touch drove him up the wall, making him shudder in Eames's grasp as the first finger slipped in.

"Didn't know you would react so strongly, love," Eames said, pressing his lips to Arthur's temple as the Point Man rocked back onto his finger.

"I love this feeling. World's best kept secret," Arthur managed to get out between soft moans as Eames's other hand began to massage the tip of his erection.

It was incredibly erotic for Eames, to watch Arthur come undone in his hands like this. Before long, he was able to slip a second finger inside, which only resulted in more noises and squirms of encouragement from Arthur. When he found the man's sweet spot, Arthur bit into the skin he had previously been suckling on, his moan sending a vibration throughout Eames's neck as he rocked his hips back harder. He released the skin long enough to gasp 'more' before he went back to kissing up and down his neck.

"Need you Eames," Arthur panted against his ear. "Now..."

"You don't know what you do to me love," Eames hissed, his fingers leaving with a soft pop before he gripped Arthur's hips, sliding him up his body so he could line his cock up with the man's entrance.

Arthur's breath was harsh against his lips as he guided the man down, and he pressed an open mouthed kiss to Arthur's lips to stifle his own moan. The way his channel was rippling and tightening around his cock was sending jolts up his spine as he sank into him. A soft whine left Arthur's throat when he was all the way in, the angle just right so that the tip of his cock was pressing up hard against his prostate.

"Move, Eames, move-"

Whatever Arthur was going to say after that was cut off as Eames obeyed, guiding Arthur's hips up before thrusting up into him, making the man's legs shudder at the feeling. Arthur arched his back, shoving his hips down to try and take him deeper, and Eames responded by thrusting again. Their natural rhythm locked in, the push and pull of their bodies working to bring them closer to their shared peaks.

Eames wondered where Arthur learned to move his hips in such a way and realized for the first time that Arthur was going to be a real handful in bed. His body was demanding, thrusting down onto his arousal and milking him for all he was worth, and despite how he prided himself on his endurance, he could feel himself hurtling towards the edge.

"Arthur...Arthur, Jesus Christ..." The words were panted into Arthur's mouth, but then Arthur began to do sinful things with his tongue to shut him up, one of his own hands sliding down his body to fondle his cock in rhythm to his thrusts.

Arthur tightened around him abruptly and he moaned Eames's name into his mouth as he came, splattering both of their bellies with his cum. The way his length was milked by the velvety channel offered Eames no hope of resistance and with a barely contained moan, he shot his seed deep up into his partner. Arthur was a boneless heap on top of him when his vision finally stopped blurring from the intensity of his orgasm, and all he could do in response was throw an arm over his back, fingers trailing along his sweat soaked side.

"Love...that was amazing," Eames said. "You...wow."

"Good to know I can reduce you to a mush of incomprehensible sentences," Arthur said into his neck, the curve of his smile making Eames grin.

"Stop using big words, my brain isn't functioning right now," Eames said.

Arthur pushed himself up, the shifting of their bodies drawing Eames's softened length out of his body. "Incomprehensible is hardly a big word, Eames."

"Arthur, love, I am not arguing with you about what bloody counts as a long word," Eames said.

"I suppose I could deal with some cuddling instead," Arthur said, sinking down to rest his head on Eames's chest as the man shifted to lie down on his back fully. "And maybe you could come with me grocery shopping tomorrow." He yawned. "I'm running low on Dinosaur Snackies."

"Mmm, can't have that," Eames said, running a hand through Arthur's hair.

Arthur smiled again, a little startled by how frequent he found himself doing so. Eames had changed him, more than he had initially thought. Sure, some of the changes he had reached himself but if Eames hadn't stuck with him for as long as he had...he doubted he would be feeling as good as he did now. In fact, he couldn't think of a time he had felt better.

"Eames...I love you," he said, voice quiet.

For awhile, Eames didn't respond, but Arthur knew he was awake from the way his fingers trailed between his shoulder blades and his neck. "I love you too, Arthur."

The words made Arthur's chest feel warm. They had pulled each other out of a dark place, a place that was terrifyingly cold when he looked back on it, and despite everything they were still together. Despite everything, Eames was determined to stay with him. With Eames by his side, he had no reason to fear going back to that place, for Eames erased any desire for him to do so. Arthur had a reason to stay up where he was. He wanted to see every smile, every grin, hear every laugh and every terrible joke Eames made. And Eames wanted the same of him.

It was almost scary, the perfection of their relationship. But just...almost.

Arthur couldn't find a drop of true fear in his heart anywhere.


End file.
